


One More Lifetime

by Lost_Girl_02



Series: One More... [7]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A love story for the songs, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-adjacent, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Starks, Mix of Show and Book Canon, Post-Canon, Stark Sister Solidarity, it's important to me that the Starks are happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 09:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19016743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Girl_02/pseuds/Lost_Girl_02
Summary: After the Battle of the Two Queens, the Army of the Dead, and all the wars that have plagued Westeros since before she was born, Sansa Stark is ready to be who she was meant to be: Queen in the North. But there is more to the rest of her life than just ruling, and with change abound in the realm, she must find that love and happiness and family she thought was lost.Post-series, so spoilers for the finale/season 8





	1. The Start of their Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know that this is super late and there's still one more chapter to be posted and I'm really sorry about that, but the finale really wiped me out and I really wanted to do this one right, so I took a little longer writing it. But, the second chapter is already written and I will hopefully get it posted soon.
> 
> This is post-canon/canon-adjacent so there will be spoilers for the end of S8.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones (if I did there would have been some minor changes to the finale lol).
> 
> Enjoy!

When the Knights of the Vale and the Northern armies had prevailed at the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa had promised herself that she would not willingly leave the North again.

It was one part fear - what would happen when she was taken away from her roots once again? - one part strategy - the best person to defend the North would be the one  _in the North_ defending it, helping it, rebuilding it - and one part relief. For her entire childhood, the walls of Winterfell had stifled her, and although she was born in winter, she had never truly known much worse than the mild, chilly summers of her homeland. She had ached to be let free in the warmth of the South, for surely a place as bright and pleasantly warm as someplace like the Reach was infinitely better than the chill of the North.

But she had to learn the hard way - her childhood songs of revelry and chivalry of the capital bleeding away on the floor of the Twins and the steps of the Iron Throne - that Northerners did not fare well when they traveled south of the Neck.

Yet, just over half a decade after she fled, she found herself in King's Landing once again, but this time she was no one's prisoner, she was the Lady of Winterfell, with an army at her back, and she could finally give the North the freedom her brother and mother had died for.

She had sent a raven back to Winterfell, however, a tear blotting her signature but sealed with a proud direwolf, proclaiming that Brandon of the Weirwood had been named King of the Six Kingdoms and her people could finally rest. Their independence was won and there was no taking it back without further bloodshed, something everyone would gladly avoid at this point. Sansa knew that she would do what she could to ensure that although the North would remain in good standing with the rest of the Six Kingdoms, there would never be a question of its sovereignty again while her and hers lived.

 _My brother Robb started us on this path to become free of the control of a Southron ruler who doesn't know the North...who doesn't know the Wall or the wolfswood...and I am glad that I get to be the one to finally bring his dream to fruition and to fulfill his oath to you._ She had written on the scroll, watching as the ravens carried her message to every corner of the North.

 _We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark,_ Lyanna had proclaimed of Jon, just as the Greatjon had done for Robb.

 _Maybe they will accept a Queen,_ the thought floated to the forefront of her mind, and she latched on to it with all her heart. Truth be told, it had been there since she had retaken her home with the Knights of the Vale, but she never let herself believe in it too deeply until now. Now, with the wars of autumn and winter over, and there was a chance that there might be a peaceful future, a peaceful spring.

Shaking her head, she breathed in the horrible stench of ash and rotting bodies and the unmistakable stink of King's Landing, finding it a bit easier to imagine never returning once her brother was crowned.

* * *

Podrick Payne was a squire no longer. Ser Brienne held Oathkeeper steady over his shoulder as he knelt in the dust of the ruined Throne Room and she said the words Jaime Lannister had charged her with only a few weeks ago.

Unlike that instance, his knighting was filled with a somber kind of pomp and revelry - he was the first knight to be made in the New Age and he felt the weight of that honor settle distinctly over him. He was still wearing the same dented, studded, Lannister red armor he had worn since he first became a squire, and while that seemed to fit well with the destroyed look of the room, he certainly stuck out among the assembled lords and knights in their finery and gleaming armor.

He kept his eyes lowered to the floor, silently reciting any house words he could think of to keep his composure. His entire body shook with anticipation, from his hands spasming at his sides to the tears of joy that burned bright in his eyes. He never expected to be deemed worthy to have the title of knight - at one point he had simply accepted the fact that he was too old to be suddenly named a knight, and was content to serve Brienne or Lady Sansa as they saw fit until the end of his days - and he truly would not have wanted the title if he did not think he was worthy of it.

But, a tear ran down Pod's cheek when Ser Brienne called for him to arise, a knight of the  _Seven_ Kingdoms, her own voice thick with emotion...for herself, and for him. He knew how much weight and honor she felt to finally have the power, the responsibility to knight another, and exactly what her own knighthood had meant coming from the man it had. Just as it meant more than he could fathom having Brienne be the one to raise him to the title of "Ser," to find honor and worth in all he had done, and he would never be able to thank her enough for giving him the charge of protecting _all_ seven kingdoms, and that he would certainly be the last knight to hold such an honor.

Pod knew that the North was its own kingdom, but Sansa and Lady Arya were there to witness his knighting, and he felt a beam of pride knowing there would be no objection from either. He could be pledged to the North and the rest of the realm, it just meant that he was not being asked to pick sides...just to protect the innocent, to be brave and just, no matter where he found himself.

Even as he looked around the hall, the faces of those who gathered there blurred together, but he unabashedly wiped the tears from his eyes, the faces coming into focus.

The Lord of the Vale, Sansa's cousin, a mere boy no more than ten-and-six with a fidgety demeanor and a look of discomfort on his arrogant face.

Yara Greyjoy, the Lady of the Iron Islands, she might be among the most formidable persons in the room, with her rugged features and a scowl creasing her face.

The prince of Dorne, who simply looked out of place, his orange and gold overcoat was the brightest spot of color in the room, maybe the whole kingdom.

King Brandon, who had observed the whole proceedings with a distinctly unperturbed gaze, his hands folded in his lap as he sat in his chair at the base of the melted throne.

Lady Arya and Gendry Baratheon, standing close to one another, their hands brushing together in a way that Podrick recognized as the way he would hesitantly try and take Sansa's hand.

Lord Tyrion, who even through the beard and the haunted pallor of his green eyes, managed to cheer louder for "Ser Podrick" than anyone else. Another tear leaked out of Pod's eye at that, proud that he had found the courage to shove that sword through the back of Ser Mandon Moore's head all those years ago.

Sansa Stark was the last face he looked upon, her blue eyes never leaving him as he slowly stood, a joy and lightness there that he didn't normally see on her, her lips tilting upwards in that soft smile he loved. He would spend nearly every day for the rest of his life wondering what it was about  _him_ that made him worthy of her love and affection, but he would cherish it nonetheless.

Brienne clasped him on the shoulder, tears burning in her eyes, and she nodded solemnly at him before moving back, and for once, Pod let himself enjoy the relief that came with having finally been deemed worthy of his knighthood.

* * *

"You're staying here, then," Sansa said slowly, clasping her hands together and making sure to keep her voice steady and neutral. She was stating the obvious at this point, but it was hard not to feel like she was being set adrift.

"I'm to be a Kingsguard," Pod replied quietly, but his voice still shook with pride, his hand reaching out and grabbing hers.

The two were seated on one of the hard benches in the receiving room of her guest quarters - some of the only rooms to survive the sack of King's Landing. He pulled her hand into his lap, gently maneuvering it so her fingers rested on his wrist, the wrist where her favor was still tied. His brown eyes were begging her to understand and she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at how selfish she had been acting.

Pod had dreamed of being a knight for so long, and to be finally granted that title and  _more._ To be appointed to the newly formed Kingsguard was an incredible honor and she couldn't think of two people more suited to the task than Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick.

"I release you from your vows to me," she whispered, though he had never officially said any to her, she knew his quiet promises and honor would be the last things tethering him to her. "Tell Brienne the same. There," her heart caught in her throat, but she knew she must force the words out, "there have never been more loyal knights...or truer friends. Take care of my little brother for me."

Sansa stood to leave, the emotions nearly threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted to stomp her feet like a child and shout  _it isn't fair_ \- she had finally found love like in her songs, but it was being wrenched away like so many other things in her life - soon she would have to return to the North, to her home, and she wasn't sure when she would see her family again.

Arya had told her that she would stay in the North for just long enough to prepare for her journey west of Westeros...she would be gone for months at a time, but finally free.

She had already said her goodbyes to Jon as he traveled up to the Wall, and just as it was before, the brothers of the Night's Watch rid themselves of all their previous lands and families.

And now Pod and Brienne, two people she had come to think of as part of her family, two people who had earned her undying faith and trust, were staying in the South.

"Sansa," he pleaded, grabbing her forearm lightly as she stood, turning her to face him. But before she could respond, he pulled her against him, one hand moving to cup her face as he brought their lips solidly together.

Her eyes immediately shut, and she practically sagged against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, feeling the solidness of his body against hers. A little bubble of heat seemed to surround them even as the two tried to press even closer together, and Sansa couldn't help but feel a little melancholy at the thought that this might be the last kiss she might share with him.

They slowly drifted apart, so reminiscent of the way their first kiss, a kiss atop the snowy ramparts of Winterfell with death hanging over their every move, and how neither really wanted the kiss to end.

"Wait for me," he whispered, his lips brushing her wet cheeks and eyelids as he barely breathed the words. "I know I have no right to ask this, but... _please_...wait."

Sansa found herself nodding, for it was already true in her heart - she would wait for him no matter what, if he never returned to her in this lifetime or if he rode North in a few months' time, she would be there waiting. He had captured her heart and that gave him the right to ask for such a thing of her, just as she could ask of him...

"Come back to me," she replied and there was no other words to be said.

When Brienne had knighted him, she charged him to protect all seven kingdoms and Sansa knew that he would take such an oath seriously. The North was under his protection, and she dared hope that Bran, in reshaping this world, might take that into consideration when delegating tasks to his Kingsguard.

But all of that would come later, in the weeks to come as the New Age began and the world had to rebuild itself from the Long Night and the Battle of the Two Queens. For now, there were only whispered promises sealed with heady kisses and the hope that something good might result out of such bloodshed.

* * *

The white Kingsguard cloak weighed heavily on his shoulders as he stood just outside the new council chamber. For such a light thing, it was easy to crumple under the responsibility of all that it symbolized, and no matter how many times he put it on, Pod still felt the weight of "Ser" and "Kingsguard."

In those moments at night, when he stared up at the ceiling of his quarters in the White Sword Tower, he wondered if someone had made a mistake in naming him to to this order. He was just a stumbletongue of a lesser house, and although he might have experience surviving some of the famed battles of recent memory, he was still nowhere near as good with a blade as Ser Brienne or any number of fighters. It was times like those, when his doubts crept into his mind, that maybe he thought he could understand Jaime Lannister a bit more. Lannister was a decade younger than Pod when he had been named a Kingsguard, when he first had to deal with the weight and the expectations and the  _oaths._

But then, he wondered if anyone other than Brienne would every fully understand the Kingslayer.

He saw her from time-to-time, looking at the White Book, her thumb rubbing over the ink of Jaime's page. Pod didn't dare ask her to explain why she had done what she had - and some part of him knew that she had loved Jaime so incredibly much and wanted to honor that private love they had shared - but one time he did sneak a look at the Kingslayer's pages. Reading the story Brienne had written, he saw half-told stories she would tell and the rumors that had swirled about the two since...he didn't know how long ago.

A knock brought him back to the present, and he quickly opened the chamber's doors, sharing a commiserating look with Lord Tyrion as he exited. Running an entire realm, even if it was only six kingdoms, was a thankless task, but Pod knew there was no one more apt to the task than Tyrion Lannister.

The rest of the Small Council filtered out in due time, and only when Samwell Tarly had shuffled past, Pod's ears pricking at the mention of ravens, did he finally enter the chamber. King Bran was sitting in his chair at the end of the table, his usual neutral expression on his face.

"I think the Lord Commander can take me back to my chambers today," Bran stated, his voice quiet yet firm, as he nodded to where Ser Brienne was still sitting towards his right. "I believe we will have much to discuss, and as for you, Podrick...I think there's someone who is in need of your assistance at the moment."

Pod's jaw practically dropped open, his heart racing as his mind immediately went to the scroll of parchment tucked inside his shirt. The raven had just arrived from the North in the early hours of the morning and he had told no one else of what he was planning. But, no matter how many times Bran displayed his omnipotence, it always took the young knight by surprise when the king knew of something he should not.

Still a bit in shock, he took a few unsteady steps towards the door before remembering to turn and bow. Brienne, likely in a similar state of unease, climbed to her feet, placing shaking hands on the back of the king's chair and rolling it towards the door.

"Where you're going I'm not sure a white cloak will be the best choice," Bran decried once again in that odd, flat voice of his before disappearing out the door with the first female knight of the Kingsguard.

Braking into a run, not caring how his armor clanked with every step, Pod dashed back to his room, quickly divesting himself of his gold and white armor and the white cloak, shrugging on a plain brown overcoat, before he was out the door once again. He made his way out of the partially rebuilt Keep - the red stones used in its original construction were all gone so it was needing to be rebuilt in a mixture of different materials - and down into the lower levels of King's Landing.

There was still clear evidence of the dragonfire and wildfire that had burned the city nearly to the ground, but there were signs everywhere that people were slowly beginning to rebuild. Storefronts were being erected once again, with lengths of canvas or silk to mark the space, people were beginning to mill about in the streets once more, the gold cloaks as much assisting in the resettlement as they were in keeping crime under control.

He made his way into what was once the Street of Silks, but was then the Street of Septs, and now - thanks in no small part to Lord Bronn of Highgarden - well back into becoming the Street of Silks once again.

Half-clothed girls called at him from doorways, causing him to blush nearly down to the roots of his dark hair, but he never let his eye stray as he kept on to his destination. Sansa's message, her plea, was tucked against the skin of his chest, only separated by his undershirt, her words and hopes clear in his mind.

_I have used nearly every favor I have with some of Littlefinger's old contacts in King's Landing...it took me ages to decipher whom he might have still been working with that would know..._

_Please send word soon...it's been too long..._

_All my love, Sansa_

The address that had been scrawled beneath her signature had led him to a small, ramshackle of a house towards the lower end of the street. Judging by the laughter and noise coming from inside, it was clearly one of the brothels that had retaken its place after the Faith Militant had destroyed it the first time. His heart stuttered, he couldn't believe that all this time she had been right under their noses, only a few leagues from the Red Keep. That is, if she was still alive.

Taking a deep breath, Pod gingerly made his way into the establishment, his eyes trying to scan each girl's face for a brief moment, although he wasn't quite sure what he was looking for.  _Brown eyes,_ was about as much description as Sansa could give him, but although that might rule out some girls, it was hardly a unique quality.

"Looking for me, handsome?" A sultry voice purred in his ear, a dainty hand coming up to trace patterns on his chest.

His face flushing an even darker shade of red, Pod quickly stepped back, delicately removing the girl's hand and muttering his apologies as a pair of wide blue eyes stared back at him. "I'm looking for... _someone_ b-but I'm not quite sure if the name I have is still correct or..."

The girl nodded her blonde head in understanding, a look of pity coming across her face. "We get plenty of men looking to reunite with their girls after what happened, some of them change their names when they get here, too embarrassed to let their sweetheart see what they do now. Who're you looking for?"

"H-her name, the one I know, would be Jeyne. She's originally from the North...brown eyes," he said, not bothering to contradict the girl - it was a lot easier to nod along with the story of lost lovers than explain who he was and why he was looking for a Northern steward's daughter in a brothel in the ruins of King's Landing.

If it was possible, the girl's expression became even more pitying, but she nodded her head. "I think I know who you're looking for. I'm just trying to warn you...the Silent Sisters really did something to her...if you're looking for the girl you knew, she's not here."

"Just, take me to her," Pod pleaded, thinking of how Sansa's face would harden if she learned how close he had come to just turn around and walk out the door. " _Please._ " Anxiety roared in his gut as he followed the girl towards the back of the brothel, his entire field of vision practically narrowing down to the small doorway she was leading him to.

With a gentle knock, the girl nudged the door open, nodding her head towards the room. "Good luck," she murmured, squeezing his shoulder gently, and before he could thank her properly, she was gone.

Pod tried to keep his footsteps as light as possible, not wanting to startle the girl, but quickly scuffed his toe audibly on the floor, trying to give her some warning that another was in the room.

"Theon?" A weak voice called out, and a girl's face became visible in the arrow of light that streamed from the doorway.

With that word, that  _name,_ he knew he had found the right girl, even if he had never seen her face before. Glassy brown eyes the size of saucers stared at him from above an upturned nose, stringy brown hair tumbling over her bony shoulders, her legs curled into her chest.

"Jeyne Poole?" He asked softly, and a flicker of recognition crossed the girl's face for a brief moment before being replaced with doubt. "I'm a friend of Sansa's...would you like to return home?"

* * *

The direwolf crown sat heavily on her head, the silver band cool against her forehead even though she had been wearing the diadem since the morning's meeting with the builders. Winterfell was still in ruins just a few months shy of a year after the Army of the Dead had attacked her home. In contrast, it had been only a scant few months since her coronation and though she wore the title with pride, there was still a bit of an adjustment to realize that she had truly become the Queen in the North.

Arya hadn't stayed put long enough to see her be crowned, but where the old Sansa would have taken it as a slight or a sign of disrespect, the Sansa that recognized who her sister truly was knew that it was simply her restless spirit. Arya was never going to be tied down for very long, and although it made the halls of Winterfell a bit lonelier, she accepted her choice.

Plus, her little sister was always knew that she was always welcome home for however long she wanted to say.

But the loneliness should have been nothing new to Sansa, she had endured  _countless_ years pretending she was not as lonely as she felt, but it still felt strange to sit in the halls of her childhood home and not see her brothers running through the yard, or her sister by her side, making some snide comment about this lord or that lady.

Yet she couldn't dwell on the loneliness for very long...she had an entire kingdom to run after all, and even though this winter was one of the shortest on record, there was still much to be done.

However, as she stared at the literal piles of messages she had to respond to - from lords and ladies across the North declaring their allegiance to her as queen; from farmers looking for help in clearing their land of debris from the Night King's attack - her eyes alighted on the one that was open in the middle of the desk. She was quickly becoming familiar with Pod's handwriting as they relayed information about the search for Jeyne Poole and simple notes to one another. Nothing damaging, just small ways that they kept each other close in spirit if they couldn't be near in body.

But this message was one that she would never have expected: Ser Brienne had been pregnant and recently given birth to twin girls.

The news came so unexpectedly, Sansa wasn't sure how to react. Her mother had been round with child as long as Sansa could remember, but she had heard that some women didn't gain the expected look of a woman with child. And if there was one thing about Brienne, it was that she was not one to be the "expected woman."

Pod's short note had contained the particulars about how she, how they had all found out - once more via one of her brother's visions - and that the twins were Jaime Lannister's children. Although, truthfully,  _that_ had never been in question in Sansa's mind. But underneath Pod's short message was a much longer one from Brienne, one she had been waiting to read when she had the time...and didn't have to face any of her subjects afterwards.

Quickly unfolding the parchment, Sansa began to read, her eyebrows raising as she did.

_Queen Sansa,_

_I hope this message finds you swiftly and in good health. As I am sure you are quite busy, I will keep this to the point - I also gave this to Ser Podrick to send, unsealed, so I am sure he will have forewarned you about this news._

_For the past nine moons I have been with child, and although I was not aware of that fact until recently thanks to King Brandon, that does not change the fact. I am now a mother to two healthy, beautiful twin girls._

_I know what you must think of me - having Ser Jaime's children out of wedlock - but I hope you can forgive my dishonor. I never thought myself a mother and I had accepted that fate ever since my septa told me no man could ever love my face with the lights on and a clear mind._

_Even so, I loved one man, a man who held no romantic interest in me, for nearly my entire adolescence and into my adult life. And I will love another man, a man with honor, a man who I dare to say loved me so, until the day I die. King Bran has assured me that some of the oaths of the former Kingsguard no longer apply: there is to be no stain upon my honor for bearing and raising children, and members must no longer forsake marriage and a family. Your brother said that so many Kingsguard in the past have broken those vows, and that there needs to be no more bloodshed over something as simple as love._

_I thank him for that for Ser Podrick's sake, and yours, your grace, and for my girls who will be of the Houses Tarth and Lannister, to inherit both my island home and the Rock of their father's...provided Lord Tyrion does not have any heirs._

_But I know that there is no one else out there for me. Some of us are lucky enough to find that kind of unconditional, pure, love just once in our lives. I would not dare to ask the gods for another miracle...nor would I wish to. These girls...they are all I need._

_Your grace, I am sorry for burdening you with all my thoughts, and I must ask a favor of you. I understand if you should decline, you are well within your rights to, my children will likely be seen as bastards in the eyes of many. But, I must ask for your blessing to name one of my girls Catelyn, after your lady mother._

_Lady Catelyn was...I cannot describe what her faith in my abilities, in my honor, meant to me at that time, only that I greatly admired her, and wish to honor her in this small way. I am asking the Lord Hand for his permission to name the other girl Joanna, after his own mother._

_Thank you for even considering the notion and I wish you well._

_Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard_

Sansa felt her eyes well with tears as she read Brienne's note, the shock and joy and hope filling her body until she didn't know how to contain it. She had seen how much it had hurt the female knight when she was told the news of Ser Jaime's death, and from what Pod had written, she had written his honorable history in the White Book. But to have children, two little girls that would  _know_ Jaime Lannister was their father and a good man, who would know a loving mother who would teach them to fight, who would have a doting knight to play with them, and a queen who spoiled them, it must feel like their love come alive.

She quickly dipped her quill into the inkwell, not hesitating to write back her blessing - she would be honored for Brienne to use the Stark matriarch's name for one of the twins - and congratulations. A wide smile, wider than any she had worn in a very long time and a truly joyous one at that, tilted her lips as she remembered the words that had the potential to change her life, words that gave her hope.

_Members of the Kingsguard no longer have to forsake marriage and families._

* * *

"I know you miss my sister," King Bran stated, the words coming out of the blue.

Pod's whole body practically turned a bright red at the insinuation, and he spluttered in some form of weak protest. "M-my lord? I-I-I..."

"You love her, and she loves you," the young monarch continued as if Pod had not even spoken. "Two times you have met her and two times you have loved her...what does that say about you, I wonder?"

The dark-haired Kingsguard looked at the ceiling of the library - it had been his duty to accompany the king as he studied the tomes that had survived the fire and destruction, Bran was the only one that could rewrite the information within that had been lost - and wondered if it might crack open, a single stone knocking him down so his embarrassment could end.

"You still wear her favor everywhere you go. It is the most cherished thing you own."

With those words, Pod had to look at the king, the fingers of his left hand spasming and aching to go to his wrist, to trace the familiar pattern of the cord tied there. But, just as with everything the Three-Eyed Raven-King said, the statement was true. Pod had never had many personal possessions in his life, and fewer still he cared about...until a girl stood in the snows of her home, every bit a queen even then if not in name, and tied a simple leather strip that she used to tie her hair with around his wrist.

Even though Sansa was far in the North, he needed only to think about that wrist, feel the leather against his skin beneath his gauntlet and shirt, and his thoughts would turn to her. It was a reminder that there was someone who cared enough about him, as no one had ever done so before, to entrust him with a piece of her.

"It's time for the Kingsguard to do more than simply guard a king," Bran interrupted his thoughts, his tone one that said he had already seen the outcome of his decision and was pleased with it. "Even with Lord Commander Brienne splitting her time between the twins and protecting myself, there are still six other knights wholly capable of doing so. There is no reason why one of them shouldn't travel to the North...to represent the King of the Six Kingdoms' interests in relative perpetuity. And I don't see why it shouldn't be you, Ser Podrick."

The excuse might have been a thin one, but Pod knew when an olive branch  was being extended...and he knew to take it. The realm was in a fairly comfortable state of peace a year and a half after it was nearly torn apart, and with such an all-knowing ruler, Pod at least  _hoped_ the king would be able to foresee any attempts on his own life and stop them.

He was giving Pod a chance to stay in the North with Sansa for maybe the rest of their lives, he was giving them the opportunity to see if this love could withstand time and politics and kings. He was giving them the chance at a  _life._

"I-I don't know what to say, your grace," Pod stuttered, not even trying to keep the façade of a stoic Kingsguard. He had always worn his emotions on his sleeve beforehand, why should he stop now?

"That you'll come back to her," he suggested, clearly oblivious to the way Pod's heart practically stopped in his chest at the words.

"I swear it," the knight vowed, bowing his head in thanks, his brown eyes bright with tears as he thought about being able to keep that promise to Sansa.

The king was still obviously still unfinished with Podrick, because as the latter turned to leave, Bran called out. "You plan to take the girl with you, a good deed certainly, but bring Widow's Wail back to the North, at least for now. Catelyn won't be needing it for quite some time."

With a brief bow, and a glow of pride knowing that at least one of Brienne's little girls will grow into the warrior legacy of her family, Pod took his leave, eager to write to Sansa with the news.

* * *

Sansa found herself once again in the courtyard of Winterfell, waiting for the gates to open and reveal a procession from the South, but this time, she stood as the head of her house, as Lady of Winterfell and Queen in the North. Even though her direwolf crown practically shone in her fiery hair and she was wearing one of her nicest dresses, she still felt like that little girl waiting for her prince.

But this time, as the huge gates opened and she could barely contain her smile as she saw a dark-haired young man in gleaming white and gold armor, she knew that her knight was worthy and gentle and strong and  _loved her._ Podrick shot a massive grin her ways as he dismounted from his horse, and although she had to keep her expression regal, she was certain her relief was coming through at her eyes.

When she had first read his message, she could scarcely believe the words. Her brother was sending Pod to the North indefinitely as an official ambassador of the Six Kingdoms - but in between the knight's words, she saw it as a chance to be with the man she is in love with.

She inclined her head at the assorted soldiers and guards that had accompanied Pod, trying not to let her confusion show as he went to one of the carriages instead of greeting her first. However, the confusion quickly gave way to joyous tears as a thin, brown-haired, brown-eyed girl stepped down, looking up at Winterfell with a kind of breathless wonder and unspeakable sadness.

"Sansa?" Jeyne Poole asked hesitantly, giving a shaky curtsy. "Your grace, I mean...I would be honored to be allowed to..."

The redhead cut her childhood friend off, crouching down and pulling her into a hug, tears welling up in her eyes as Jeyne wept silently into her shoulder, her still bony hands clutching at the fabric of Sansa's dress. Sansa closed her eyes tightly for a brief moment, unable to put any of what she was feeling into words - the elation at finding a lost friend, the guilt at not being able to find her sooner, the sadness of all that they had been through since they were separated - but then she looked up at Pod, her thanks clear on her face.  _Thank you for bringing her back safely...thank you for returning a piece of my childhood to me._

"I'm sure we have much to talk about," she whispered, pulling back from the embrace, her heart sinking at how sunken Jeyne's face had become, she no longer looked like the young girl who had blushed over Theon Greyjoy's smile. "Wylla here will help you get settled, if that is what you wish."

The tears continued to stream down Jeyne's cheeks as she nodded her head in silent agreement and gratitude, bobbing down into another shaky curtsy. With a nod, Sansa gestured to the Manderly girl who quickly came forward, taking Jeyne by the hand and leading her into the warm halls of Winterfell.

"I cannot thank you enough, Ser," she said warmly to Pod, taking a few steps forward but stopping a respectable distance away...no matter how much she wanted to close it.

"It is not necessary," he replied, his words just as formal as hers, but the warmth was the same, "but I do have another gift for you."

Sansa raised a single eyebrow in surprise as he extended a long, thin, covered package from behind his back. Taking one delicate hand, she pulled a corner of the cloth back, revealing a gleaming sword, its golden hilt flashing in the northern sunlight.  _Widow's Wail,_ she recognized, pulling her hand back.

"You could choose another name," Pod muttered, uncannily in tune with her own thoughts.

But she shook her head, remembering that day in King's Landing when Tywin Lannister had presented this same sword to Joffrey, the boy using it to hack at a book her then-husband had gifted. "No," she said just as softly. For she also remembered the way Jaime Lannister had used it to defend this very castle from the undead. "It wouldn't be right to wipe out its past. All the hands this sword has traveled through and none thought fit to rename it...who am I to do so?"  _Besides,_ she thought,  _this no longer belongs to my family....twin swords for twin girls seems rather fitting._ "Just because a sword has a horrific name doesn't mean it must always be used for horrific deeds. I will keep it safe in the North...until its rightful heir is old enough to wield it."

Pod nodded in understanding, a smile turning his face bright with pride as he must have also realized what she meant by "rightful heir." Brienne's twins were growing fast and with each letter she exchanged with her former sworn sword, she was greeted with tales of headstrong girls with the heart and will of their mother and the easy laughter and looks of their father - albeit with astonishingly sapphire eyes. Girls who Sansa was certain would grow up to be great warriors and ladies both.

"This sword is of the North, melted down from my father's own greatsword," she declared, loud enough for the assembled men to hear, turning to face them. "But although Ice lives within its veins, it is not mine to claim...Tywin Lannister took that right from me when he forged it. Its rightful owner is one whose father used this very sword to defend the world of the living and I will proudly keep it safe until one of his daughters comes to claim her birthright."

There were some murmurs of frustration from some of the older lords, lords she knew were certainly very old fashioned and would rather melt down both Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail to re-forge Ice, but her tone left no room for argument. With a regal nod, she turned to Pod, and with a small smile, one that was soft and true and only for him, the two walked side-by-side into the castle, their hands brushing together with every step.

* * *

After just over a year in the South, Podrick was re-learning how much colder it was in the North. His Kingsguard armor had little protection against the chilly winds that blew through the hallways of Winterfell, and he found himself wearing his old, padded leather armor for protection and comfort. The red stuck out amongst the gray Northerners, but then again, so did the white and gold. The knight simply kept his head held up and bore the whispers directed his way - the only time he very nearly came to blows with a man was when one soldier had dared to leer at Sansa once when she visited him training in the yard.

They had quickly fallen back in step with one another, he dined with her often - as befit his status of a Kingsguard - and they strolled through the ramparts, trading stories and advice, she came to him often for tips on training the Northern soldiers that journeyed to Winterfell to become knights.

Running the North was clearly a taxing job for Sansa, but she wore the title well, her entire being nearly glowing with pride and dignity every time she entered a room filled with lords and ladies looking to her as queen. But when he walked her to her quarters each night, he saw her shoulders fall briefly, her eyes flickering with sadness and stress.

 _This should have been my brother's role,_ she had told him once, whispered in the alcove of her doorway, the words ghosting across his face as her lips were a hair's breadth from his cheek.  _I should have just been a princess...I never expected to be_ this  _kind of queen._

He hadn't needed to ask what kind of queen she had once expected to be - Joffrey would have dressed her up and paraded her around like a shiny toy before locking her back in her tower - but he had difficulty seeing her as anything less than the pragmatic, determined queen she was now. And he told her as much.

If a Kingsguard's extended presence in the North seemed out of place, Pod hoped they wouldn't catch on right away as to why it was  _him_ that was chosen for this particular mission.

With every day he realized again and again why he was in love with Sansa, her courage and gentility and compassion were only amplified when she became queen, yet that didn't stop her from using the cunning Cersei and Littlefinger had shown her in order to defend her nation. He hoped she saw how in love with her he was, and if the kisses they shared practically every night were proof, he would say she did.

In the secrecy of her rooms, he was free to truly show her how much he did care, and while she was still rightfully hesitant towards some of the more physical aspects of their quickly progressing relationship, Pod didn't mind in the slightest. More than once, he had to rush back to his chambers in the early hours of the morning after falling asleep, curled around Sansa after a night of talking or  _more._ Or sometimes both.

Some of his friends, ones he had made during his time in Winterfell during the Long Night - mostly other young knights and lordlings that he had trained with - had teased him in the way all boys teased one another about how much time he spent with the queen. But, even when they were done with their teasing, the question always boiled down to marriage. Had he asked for her hand? Would she say yes? Was it even possible for them to get married in the first place?

While Bran had clearly done away with the vows of celibacy for the Kingsguard, it still felt odd asking for Sansa's hand. Not because he thought she didn't love him, but he just wasn't sure if she would truly be alright being married now for the third time in roughly seven years.

Surprisingly, it was the new Lord of Storm's End that proved to be the one with the most knowledge about the subject, and thankfully the two had become close friends during the Long Night and their time in King's Landing after the war. They both knew what it was like to feel out of their depth in the world of court, both much preferring honesty and straightforwardness to the schemes and lies of politics. He wrote to Gendry simply looking to ask what it had been like proposing to a Stark girl, as both were rightfully frightening in their own manner, and had received a traditionally curt response back:  _Even if she says no, you won't lose her forever._

Pod had to smile at that, remembering every time Arya made port in White Harbor after months and months at sea, she made the journey to the Wall and then down to Winterfell to see her sister. She told tales of lands to the west and of her great adventures there, fighting brigands and monsters that once would have seemed like they came from an old legend Pod's nurse would tell. The younger Stark girl seemed more alive than he had ever seen her, her face flushed with happiness as she told her tales. And every time she returned, she spent the first night in Winterfell with her sister, the two retreating to Sansa's room, and each morning Pod would ask what they talked about, but "sisterly matters" was the only response he would ever receive.

But afterwards, what made him smile as he sent the reply to Gendry, was that whenever she left Winterfell, Arya would make the trip down to Storm's End, uncaring how out of her way it was and spend several happy weeks there - if Gendry's vague letters were anything to go by.

As he watched the raven fly down to Storm's End, bearing the vague tidings of a marriage, the image of Sansa's beaming face in his mind as he had asked that morning, Pod couldn't help but think that this was what true peace and happiness must feel like.

* * *

Sansa gripped her sister's arm tightly, and for a moment she was worried about her nails piercing the fabric of Arya's sleeve and into her arm, but then she remembered the stories of her training and knew that her sister was made of much tougher stuff. But she also didn't think that, even with all of her anxiety and stress, she would be able to pierce through thick fur and wool.

Each step through the godswood felt lighter than the last, the heavy train of her wedding gown not weighing her down in the slightest, the satin dancing across the frost-dusted grass. It had taken her and a few other seamstresses nearly three months to dye and sew the white garment, the four of them hunched together in a room for hours on end, painstakingly sewing beads and threads of silver and small rubies into the gown.

The dress was not pure white - she would have felt like a fraud in it, although her sister had insisted she had nothing to be ashamed of - but simply a very light gray, meaning they only had to dye her coronation dress only a few shades lighter. She had insisted on using that dress as the base of her wedding gown, both to conserve resources and because it was simply one of the most gorgeous dresses she had ever worn and wanted to wear it one more time. Because of that necessity, there were not too many adjustments to be made - the weirwood leaves turned into snowflakes with ruby centers and the neckline lowered slightly, exposing her collarbone.

She didn't wear her direwolf crown, her hair styled into a series of elaborate braids that pulled her red hair up off her neck, only a few ringlets hanging free to frame her face. A simple, thin silver circlet rested in her hair, real weirwood leaves woven around the band, starting at her temples and into her braids, their red and black color flashing in her hair.

The bridal cloak had taken her yet another month to sew as she had insisted on doing it herself. The tradition of a bridal cloak was one rooted in the South, but she had found the old direwolf cloak her father had presumably cloaked her mother in and subsequently rushed to show Arya. And since she was marrying a Southron knight, she felt it right to have some of his traditions represented as well. So, she spent months stitching the purple and white cloak, using gold thread to emboss the borders of each cheque until her fingers hurt and bled, but it was all worth it in the end.

She looked up at Pod, standing underneath the heart tree, wearing his finest clothes, all in shades of gray and white, her favor proudly displayed on the outside of his shirt, and his Kingsguard cloak hanging from his shoulders. Her  very heart felt like it was beaming as she moved closer, her grip loosening around Arya's arm. It would be her third wedding, but this would be the one that counted, the one that  _mattered._

Even though she was only a few paces away, the distance felt like leagues and she had to remind herself to breathe every so often.

Sansa would have thought she would be more worried about the bedding...after all, the last man she had been with,  _the only man she had been with_ she shuddered to think, was Ramsay and he was not the gentlest of lovers. But, her cheeks pinkened as she remembered Pod's soft touches, innocent more often than they were not, the way he looked at her with love and understanding, and she realized she had nothing to worry about.

Sheepishly, Arya had told her how it was  _supposed_ to feel like to lay with a man, so she was a bit more confident in how the bedding would go this time around. It stung a bit to have to ask her little sister for advice of such an intimate nature - she was supposed to be the older sister, handing down sage advice to the less experienced younger sister - but she realized that if she spent too much time chasing "supposed to's" she would miss out on the rest of her life.

Sansa didn't even hear the septon's words as he asked Arya and Pod the standard words about bringing and receiving the bride, it was like her ears were full of cotton. Her eyes flicked to the side, brightening as she saw Jeyne Poole standing there, a small but genuine smile on her friend's face, and she was grateful that her girlhood friend was there to witness this moment. On the other side, there was Gendry Baratheon, but he had eyes only for Arya, and she couldn't begrudge him that...it was the first and last time he would see her wild, free sister in a dress.

Her eyes finally returned to the man she was about to marry, his brown eyes radiating acceptance and joy and pure, unadulterated  _love_ as they found her Tully blue ones. He extended his hand, and she placed her shaky palm in his, her fingers trembling from anticipation and not fear for once.

The faded direwolf cloak that was once Catelyn Tully's was carefully removed from her shoulders, and she bowed her head as Pod gingerly wrapped her in the one she had sewn so lovingly. Although she would never call herself a Payne and their children would always carry the Stark name, she was glad to be part of any family that could produce such a sweet and courageous man.

Sansa Stark and Podrick Payne were married in secret, but their love was known to the few members in attendance, a single tear rolling down the Northern Priincess's cheek and the Stag Lord stifled his own tears with a cough. As the knight and the lady's hands were bound together and they said the words in sight of the old gods and the new, even those who heard tales of the ceremony in the future could never doubt it was a wedding and a love made for a song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was originally gonna post this fic as one really long one-shot but I got to this point and was like, this seems like a fitting end to at least a chapter (since I already had written the rest of the one-shot) so I broke it here so you guys didn't have to sit through a 14k one-shot.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who has read this fic and this series, it has really been amazing to see the responses, and I will try and reply to everyone I haven't answered before, but know your comments really do mean the world to fic writers like me!
> 
> Before my long A/N once again, please leave kudos, comments, reviews, critiques, etc. I read all of them and they mean so much!!
> 
> Now the rest of this will probably be just my A/N so feel free to skip if it doesn't interest you!
> 
> Keeping w/canon has been a big part of this series, I've wanted to keep it canon-adjacent, and really just use the canon and twist it in my own way to make it work for this pair. And so after the finale I knew there was a lot to do before I could finally get Podsa together again.
> 
> -re-introducing Jeyne was a big part for me b/c that was a huge part of the earlier fics in this series (also I love Jeyne and Theyne from the books) and that was supposed to be a shorter section of Pod finding her that really got out of control.
> 
> -Bran as king....*shrugs*. Writing Bran was both easy and hard to write b/c he knows so much but has 0 emotion and how to use his knowledge properly, I really hope I did a good job using him as my thinly veiled plot device to get Pod to the North.
> 
> -Also, if he could see everything my headcanon is that maybe he'll do away w/some of the oaths that caused so much controversy and pain and bloodshed (e.g. Jaime/all of Aerys' kingsguard).
> 
> pregnant!Brienne was something I debated w/myself for a while but I am a die-hard Braime fangirl at heart so I ended up wanted to give Jaime the chance at being a dad even if he's not there, and for Brienne to have a little happiness out of his death but she def recognizes that he loved her (b/c he did and I will fight anyone who says otherwise lol).
> 
> -Once I got that I knew I wanted her to have twins, and then twin girls who were like the perfect mix of Braime would give Brienne a chance to get some closure and move past her awful childhood.
> 
> -Also, then there'll be two little girls running around to inherit Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail/their parent's legacy.
> 
> The "Wylla Manderly" mention in one of the sections is just a nod to one of the secondary characters in the books. She's pretty cool, she's got green hair.
> 
> Arya is totally a free spirit off to explore but I do think she comes back from time-to-time to see Gendry and Sansa (or else what was the point of her finding her home again??)
> 
> -Also, Pod and Gendry as BFFs is one of my new fav headcanons.
> 
> I love Sansa's coronation dress and with a few changes it would be a great wedding dress, there was already so much symbolism built in there.
> 
> -Also the Payne house crest is...yikes, I tried to allude to it here and make it fit in this fic, but totally look it up if you want a surprise.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has got to the end of that A/N, I'm sure there's more I'm missing, but some of it is talked about in the next ch. so I'll save it for then. Like I said, it'll be posted shortly, and thanks again to those who have read this series!!


	2. The Rest of their Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second/final chapter of my "One More" series (two chs. in one day!! also kind of my apology for taking so long), thanks to everyone who has read even just one installation of this series and for letting me cope w/S8 via this fic. This started as like a 5k stream of consciousness fic/character study after the premier and has turned into this 48k monster of a series that I completely fell in love with!
> 
> And I was honestly shocked by how much other people liked it and kept reading each installment every week.
> 
> So thank you to everyone who has followed this series as I tried to navigate canon while the show was still airing, and to anyone who might read this series long after GoT has ended!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own GoT or this would be actual literal canon instead of just canon-adjacent.
> 
> Enjoy!

Podrick had faced armies and dead men walking and even men as terrifying as Littlefinger and boys as mad as Joffrey. He had seen wildfire light the waters of Blackwater Bay green and dragonfire burning all around him. He was a knight of the Seven Kingdoms and a member of King Brandon's Kingsguard.

But, waiting at Sansa's bedside as she screamed and clutched at his hand with a vice-like grip, her face twisted in pain, he thought he might finally know true fear.

Marrying Sansa had felt like a dream, and if it was one, he never wished to wake. Due to her position as Queen in the North and his as a Kingsguard of the South, they had thought it best to keep their marriage private to start. There was no feast, no bedding ceremony - for which he was incredibly grateful for - and it was only when Sansa started receiving marriage proposals from every Northern lord who visited Winterfell did she finally make the announcement that she was already wed.

Two months of uninterrupted, unnoticed wedded bliss was all they would have, but Pod also wouldn't trade it for anything.

When he had first asked her to marry him, Sansa had made it clear it was purely for love - their children would carry the Stark name, be Princes and Princesses in the North, and they would not be residents of the Six Kingdoms. He had agreed immediately, because truthfully, he didn't care much for the Payne lands, and he wasn't quite sure if he still had any claim to them. He was marrying her for love as well, he was never one for political machinations or plot, and he had seen the desperation in her eyes when she declared her children would never be taken from her.

All he truly wished to do was make her happy, and he was shocked that marrying  _him_ would do so.

He had expected once they had publicly announced their marriage, that the question of an heir would be raised, she was a  _queen_ after all, but what he hadn't expected was for the answer to come so soon.

Just over ten moons into their marriage, and Sansa was on the birthing bed, her screams bouncing off the stone walls of her home. When he had first found out she was with child, he had spun her around their room, tears in both their eyes. They would be young parents surely, but they simply couldn't wait to welcome a new life into the world.

But that happiness was now tinged, nearly overwhelmed with pain, as Pod knelt at her side, one of her hands clutched between both of his, her nails digging into the skin of his palms so deeply he would be surprised if she  _didn't_ draw blood. He had not moved from her side since the pains started, sending one of the stewards for the queen's sister, Jeyne Poole, and any midwife within the castle's walls.

Arya had taken one look at her sister's face, scrunched up in pain, as well as the scene between her legs - one Pod couldn't bring himself to look at quite yet - and had hastily made her apologies before practically sprinting from the room, her own face tinged with green. The sight of the girl who had faced down the Night King without wavering, turning tail when faced with a birth, did send a bit of a chuckle through Pod, and he made a note to tell Gendry not to expect the younger Stark woman to rush to become pregnant anytime soon.

Jeyne had taken what should have been Arya's place on Sansa's other side, her normally closed-off and sometimes vacant countenance suddenly full of confidence and strength as she brushed the sweaty red hair from her friend's forehead. He remembered the brown-haired girl taking care of Brienne's twins when they were back in King's Landing while the Lord Commander was busy with her duties as a Kingsguard, but he didn't realize she was so well handled when it came to the birthing portion of childcare.

But, if he thought a bit more on it - which he would do when his wife was not yelling and crying with pain - he would realize that Jeyne had forgone taking up her late father's position as steward, instead choosing to apprentice herself to midwives and the female healers that worked within the castle.

As it was, his wife  _was_ currently yelling and crying with pain, and Pod's heart gave a harsh lurch every time she did so, because there was nothing he could do to help. He could support her, and he bent his head, pressing his forehead against their joined hands, praying to every god he could think of that Sansa, his brave, noble Sansa, would not be like so many other wives to succumb to the horrors of childbirth.

For hours, it seemed like time stood still as he murmured words of encouragement and love to Sansa, but he wasn't sure if she even heard. Only when the midwife and Jeyne nodded encouragingly, did it feel like that spell had broken, and suddenly a new cry started to echo through the room.

"It's a boy, milady," the midwife announced proudly, wiping the wailing infant clean and placing him on the Queen in the North's chest. But Sansa didn't look much like the queen she was in that moment, merely a girl of two-and-twenty holding her firstborn son in her arms, a fresh wave of tears spilling from her brilliant blue eyes.

Pod didn't even try to stop himself from crying as he pressed a kiss to his wife's hair, whispering how proud he was of her and how thankful he was to have this child and how much he loved her. He beamed as he looked at his son, a fuzz of damp, dark hair covering his scalp, but when his eyes opened, they were the distinct shade of Tully blue as his mother's.

Sansa grinned as she stroked their son's head, curving one finger around for him to grab, her smile brightening even further when he did. They had talked about what to name their child, if it was a boy or a girl, but there was really only one option for the first Prince in the North.

"Welcome to the world, little one," she breathed, leaning against Pod in exhaustion, cradling Robb close to her chest, and he bent to gently kiss his child's forehead.

* * *

"I don't want to seem unwelcoming," Sansa started, choosing her words carefully, just as she would when facing an upset Lord Glover or an angry Umber bannerman, "but you were just here...why come back so soon?"

Arya shifted on her feet, her eyes dancing around the spacious bedroom, the one that used to be their parent's, taking in the new tapestries that hung from the walls, scenes from the Long Night embroidered there - three dragons fighting midair, a stag and a lion and a shieldmaiden fighting side-by-side, a wolf sitting underneath a weirwood tree, a bear cub sitting atop a giant, and many more. She drifted closer to the tapestries, her fingers lightly skimming over the one that showed a smaller wolf, its snout and appearance lean and distinctly feminine, but still fearsome as it leapt towards a white figure.

"They were an anniversary gift," Sansa explained, gently trying to get her sister to relax enough to tell her what was wrong. "Pod meant for them to be finished for our second anniversary, but it took a bit longer. Now, he claims they were always meant to be a gift for Jeyne's birth."

Arya gave a light chuckle at the sentiment, but her thoughts still seemed leagues away at the moment, although her steely eyes did drift over to where the North's newest princess was resting in her cradle.

Asleep, she could have passed for an infant Sansa, her Tully coloring clear, her daughter's bright red hair curled down around her ears, only a shade or two lighter than her own. However, when she was awake, Jeyne had the brown eyes of her father.

Jeyne Poole had turned away to hide her tears, but nodded in enthusiastic agreement when Sansa and Pod had asked her permission to name their daughter for her. The midwife had protested slightly, saying that the name was likely cursed, but they had insisted, Sansa in particular had wanted her daughter to grow up being proud of her namesake's strength and knowing that she was named for her mother's closest friends.

Just over a year after her birth, Sansa still couldn't think of a better name for such an inquisitive and compassionate little girl. She would determinedly waddle after her older brother, never wanting to be left out of his games, and no matter how many times she fell, little Jeyne would always get up, an excited smile on her face.

Sansa drifted over to the crib, smiling down at her daughter and brushing a lock of hair off of her forehead. She thanked the old gods and the new for the umpteenth time for giving them a daughter, their little princess.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Arya blurted out, staring at the crib, an uncommon sheen of fear in her eyes.

The redheaded woman nodded, remembering the pain of both her births. "Like nothing I had known before, but I would do it a thousand times over if it brought my children to me." She had long-ago took her own lady mother's love for granted, wishing to distance herself by any means necessary from her parents and her past. But she realized now, as she looked at her sleeping daughter, and thought of her jovial son, playing with his father somewhere in the castle, Sansa felt the unconditional love and fierce protective instincts of a Tully.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw her sister's hand move to lightly rest over her stomach, her fingers lightly tapping at the leather jerkin that still lay flat across it. Her eyebrows raised slightly out of surprise...her nomadic little sister was pregnant.

"Are you certain?" She asked carefully, studying her sister's stoic face for any kind of emotion.

Arya nodded, the fear still evident in her eyes, but was quickly being replaced by the determination and willfulness she was known for. "I've decided to keep...it's early enough that I could...but if this is the one chance I get, that  _both_ of us get..."

Sansa nodded as the younger woman trailed off, understanding the desire to take every opportunity given because you might not know when or if the next one might come. Arya had talked about her training at the House of Black and White, and wondered whether all of what she had been through had made her somewhat infertile...she had admitted that herself and Gendry weren't always as careful as they should be, but she had never become pregnant until now.

"And you've told Gendry as much?" She asked tentatively and felt an immense wave of gratitude and honor when her sister shook her head. She shouldn't have been incredibly surprised, however, because she knew the Lord of Storm's End would have likely insisted on accompanying Arya north if he had known. "Well, I'm honored, Arya."

"I'm going to be a terrible mother," her sister sighed lightheartedly, her mouth curving into a rare smile as she threw herself onto the large bed. "Mother is probably laughing at the sight of me with a child and Father is right there next to her saying  _I told you so._ "

She giggled at Arya's imitations of their parent's reactions, laying down next to her sister and placing a comforting hand on her arm. "You'll be a great mother because you're fierce and you never let anyone hurt your family. And Gendry and Pod and I are going to be there whenever you need us...but, you _are_ going to have to let us take care of you when it gets closer, understand?"

"No wonder you're a good queen," Arya grinned wickedly. "You're so bossy."

" _Arya!_ " The older sister cried in indignation, trying to lightly hit her giggling annoyance of a sister with a fluffy pillow but Arya was too quick, and the two women ended up chasing each other around their parent's bedroom as if they were still carefree children.

* * *

After the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa had vowed that she would not leave the North again, she had told him as much after the Long Night nearly half a decade ago, but as Pod had pointed out, she had already broken that vow when she rode south for the Great Council after the Battle of Two Queens. She had glared at him as they lay in bed, nearly skewering him with an expression full of ice and steel...but it was one that melted away faster than the North's summer snows before she agreed.

When the Northern lords had heard that she planned to leave for the stormlands for a few months with her husband and children, they had nearly started a riot in the Great Hall. Pod had stood right behind the Queen in the North, his hand inching closer to his sword as he glanced at his wife warily, for she simply sat there, her entire body unmoving as she listened to the complaints.

 _Northern lords like to bluster,_ she had told him later, gently kissing away his worry,  _and their words are harsher than winter, but they don't last half as long. Once they knew the reason why...no one could dare stop me from leaving without disrespecting me or my family._

And Pod had to admit she was correct, because once the lords had quieted enough for her to be heard, she had declared that their princess, Arya Stark, was due to give birth in a few months and would not be able to safely make the trip to Winterfell, so Sansa would go to be with her sister, and to show her children a bit more of the world.

Their little family made a quick stop on Tarth, grateful that Brienne was taking a trip there to see her father and daughters - two tall, blue-eyed, strong-willed, charismatic, and lovely girls who seemed to be made up of all the best parts of their parents. Robb insisted on trying to play at battle with the two girls, their wooden swords clacking as they ran all over the green, hilly island. And Joanna, who was a bit gentler than her twin, immediately took little Jeyne under her wing, making sure they were a team against their more rambunctious siblings. Headstrong Cat, on the other hand, showed the two toddlers all the "proper" fighting moves her mother had, unsurprisingly, already taught the five-year-olds.

Frankly, Pod was thankful that Tarth and the stormlands had many places to let an energetic three-year-old and a similarly frenetic one, almost two, year old tire themselves out after such a long sea voyage from White Harbor. In fact, he was certain that they were running their septa all around Storm's End at the very moment their aunt was giving birth.

The knight was swiftly and severely yanked out of his thoughts as a stream of angry curses pierced the air, and Pod couldn't help but be impressed with the creativity of some of the names petite Arya Stark was calling the gods.

He sent his friend a sympathetic look, as Gendry's own face was twisted in pain, his fingers looking slightly purple in the assassin's tight grip. He knew it was probably miniscule compared to what women went through during this process, but the younger woman had a strength that put many men to shame and was likely entirely capable of breaking Gendry's fingers.

Sansa was talking in a low tone to her sister, trying to coax her and reassure her that it wouldn't be much longer, her calm façade never dropping even as Arya simply let fly another string of curses.

Pod heard the door creak open, and he quickly turned around, hoping it would be another maester or  _someone_ who could help, but his heart plummeted when he saw Robb's dark hair peeking around the doorframe. He shot to his feet, sparing a glance at Sansa, her own eyes wide with fear and concern, but she couldn't dare leave her sister's side.

Picking up his son, making sure that he could no longer see inside the bedroom, Pod quickly shut the door, taking Little Jeyne by the hand, thankful that she hadn't seen the blood.

"Is something wrong with Aunt Arry?" Robb asked, his voice shaking with unshed tears. Jeyne began whimpering as well, but he quickly set down his son, crouching down to look his children in their eyes.

"Aunt Arry is going to be just fine," he soothed, kissing each of their foreheads in turn. "She's very strong, your aunt, but she's in a lot of pain right now and that just means your new cousin is coming very soon. You remember how excited you were to meet your new cousin, right?"

Both children nodded, Jeyne wiping at her brown eyes, the tears coming easily to his kind-hearted daughter when she thought someone was hurting.

"Come on," he clucked his tongue with a grin and a playful spark in his eye as he picked up his two children, slinging a giggling Robb over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and bouncing Jeyne on his hip. "I heard there's a monster in the castle!"

Pod quickly took his children up onto the battlements of the castle, shouting over the howling wind about a fierce giant that was attacking the walls, silently thanking the gods that Arya could not yell loud enough to be heard outside the castle itself. He played outside with Robb and Jeyne for hours, only letting a small part of his mind worry about his wife and his friend inside the bedroom, and a larger part worry about his goodsister. Although he was not always so close with Arya - because she, frankly, had frightened him ever since she casually mentioned a list of names that he might end up on if he ever hurt her sister - he did hope that she would live and that her pain might end soon.

Finally, Jeyne came running back to him, holding her arms up, her eyelids drooping noticeably, and he hoisted her up to rest her head on his shoulder. Calling for Robb, he made his way back into the castle when the steward rushed up to him, a babble of words coming from his mouth, of which Pod only understood one: "son."

He gently took Robb by the hand, letting Jeyne sleep for a little while longer, as he swiftly made his way to the lord's bedroom. Pushing open the door, Pod shot a broad grin in his friend's direction, that went entirely unnoticed as the former smith had eyes only for his son and for the young woman he loved, his blue eyes welling with tears as he gave Arya a gentle kiss. Robb immediately ran for his mother, and Sansa gave him a kiss on the cheek as she picked him up, sending Pod a grateful look, her red hair in disarray and her face paler than normal.

"Everything alright?" He whispered, using his free arm to pull her into his side and kissing her temple in greeting. He doesn't think he will ever get used to the way she so easily fits against him, their bodies slotting together like they were never meant to be apart.

His wife nodded, resting her head against his shoulder, Sansa's lips finally curving into a gentle smile as she looked at her sister and Gendry, genuine looks of happiness adorning the faces of three people who have not had cause for happiness in a very long time.

"What are you going to call him?" She asked softly, but it was enough to rouse the couple out of their world.

"Eddard Baratheon," Arya announced with finality, arching an eyebrow at Gendry's shocked expression. "What? You need an heir, and I know we're not married, but I assumed you'd be alright..."

"Alright?" Gendry exclaimed, his shock giving way to a pure kind of joy and wonder that made him look younger than his years. "Arya, I couldn't have asked for more! I wouldn't have minded if he was a Stark, but I didn't think - "

"Well, it's not my fault you can't think," the girl declared, a teasing smile lighting up her face and the matter was clearly settled.

"Why don't you go say hello to your cousin Ned," Sansa urged Robb, her voice only wavering slightly as she walked their son over to the bed and helping him up. Pod quickly followed, gently waking Jeyne so she could see her baby cousin, her face brightening at the sight.

Pulling Sansa close, he once more wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hers going about his waist, and he felt a familiar swell of love in his heart for the incredible woman, the  _queen,_ he had fallen in love with and who, by some blessing of the gods, loved him back.

She kissed the side of his neck sweetly, a simple gesture that meant nothing more and nothing less than  _I love you,_ before she returned to watching the scene on the bed, their son and daughter gently playing with a giggling Ned. At that moment, he looked at Sansa and saw the pride and joy in her eyes, and he was reminded of something she had once told him, something her father used to tell her and her siblings:  _The lone wolf dies but the pack survives._

"Your pack is growing," he murmured into her ear, squeezing her gently in happiness.

"There's still room for a few more cubs," she replied just as quietly, but her grin turned mischievous as she faced him, planting a brief but firm kiss on his lips - the promise of more to come - and he couldn't agree more.

* * *

Just over a decade ago, Sansa Stark had stood atop the battlements of her home and prayed for the survival of her people, of  _all_ people when faced with a threat that surely meant the annihilation of the living. A soft smile came to her lips as she stood on the same battlements - well, the rebuilt rampart, the original one had been destroyed in battle - and looked out at the North. Green was starting to peek through the snow that was melting under the bright sun, the trees starting to grow leaves once again, and now, the sound of steel clanging as men armored themselves for their death was replaced with the gentle hum of conversation and laughter.

Being a queen, she found, was not so different than being the Lady of Winterfell - she still had to look after her people, deal with finances and harvests and food supplies, settle disputes, and act as a diplomatic leader - just on a much grander scale. It was far from what she once thought a queen's duties were of planning lavish balls and wearing fancy dresses, but she found that she preferred it this way.

For once the truth was better than any dream or song because it was  _real and true,_ and she had learned that sometimes dreams hurt more than the truth. Her dreams had once been the lies she told herself to keep hold of her sanity, but she had no need for such measures anymore: her family was safe, it had grown even, and for the first time in as long as she can remember, the world was at peace.

In fact, as Sansa stood there on the ramparts, Winterfell was alive and bustling to prepare for the anniversary celebration of the North's independence and the end of the wars for that ghastly chair that had began in earnest when her father's head was cut off.

She still had nightmares about that day, the pretty dress she wore and how she was so proud that her hair was done in the style of the queen. She can still remember the sight of Ilyn Payne swinging Ice down on her father's neck. And in her nightmares, she watched as Joffrey showed her the head, his cruel lips twisting into a smile, before it was Ramsay in front of her with his harsh hands and harsher words.

However, when she awoke, shaking and silent - she had been trained not to scream, Joffrey had loved her screams - Pod's warm body was pressed against her side, this man next to her whom she was constantly astonished by, with his brown eyes full of concern and sympathy, so different from his silent cousin who had once terrified her.

He never asked to hear about her nightmares - only saying that he loved her and if she didn't wish to tell him, he understood - but she would always tell him anyways. After all, marriage was letting another see all the cracks in the armor, every darkness that had avoided the light for so long, every vulnerability she had been told was a weakness turned into a strength, and Pod always held her afterwards, never judging and always with love in his warm eyes.

Sansa knew her husband had nightmares of his own, everyone who survived the war with the Army of the Dead would be plagued with them until they themselves died. She did her very best to soothe him when he awoke, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his muscles tense as if he was expecting a fight at any moment. She never thought she could get to a place where she would be capable of calming another person again, of being gentle and delicate, of being silk after having to be steel for so long.

But Pod had always brought out the light in her, ever since he had joined her on the rampart over a decade ago.

"What are you thinking about?" Came the familiar voice, almost as if the universe could read her thoughts.

"You..." she smiled, turning to face her husband of eight years, a Southron stumbletongue of a knight that had showed her a love like in the songs she had long stopped believing in, "me...the North."

Pod smiled his broad, boyish smile that she adored, as he took one of her hands in his to pull her against him. She was selfishly glad that he had decided to forego his armor, since she could feel his warmth and the broad planes of his chest through the dark red, leather jerkin he had decided to wear, so reminiscent of the one she had used to never see him without.

"So, nothing new," he joked quietly, dropping a kiss into her hair. There was truth to his statement - she really did normally only think about her family and the North, but that was all about the present and what needed to be done as a mother or Queen in the North. Now, as it was when it was just herself and Pod, they were the thoughts of a woman, just a woman and her past and her loved ones.

"Do you remember the first time we kissed?" Sansa asked, though doubtless that he would remember - for all those that called him dim and a fool, his memory rivaled hers at times.

He nodded, his smile somehow growing as he looked at her with a wistful tinge to his gaze. "It was right here, wasn't it? Right before the dead came marching to our doors, you asked for a kiss, and I fell in love with you all over again."

"You never told me that," she whispered, her heart swelling at the sentiment, for that kiss was what had made her realize that she was starting to fall in love again.

"Well it's true," he promised earnestly. "And I haven't stopped loving you since."

Sansa smiled, only needing to tilt her chin upwards to capture his lips in hers, the kiss slow and soft like so many of the kisses they had shared over the years. His hand gently wrapped around hers, guiding it underneath his gauntlet so her fingers brushed against a leather cord that had been tied there for over a decade and she smiled into the kiss before breaking away slightly.

"Why do you still wear it?" She asked, curious as to why he held on to her favor for so long after they were out of danger and bound in so many other ways.

Pod grinned, looking down at their intertwined hands, her fingers still tracing the path of the cord underneath his sleeve. "To remember," he replied with a blush, the back of his neck turning red until it nearly matched his jerkin, "a girl and a boy that fell in love when the world might end before the sun came up, the hope that they must have had to let themselves  _feel_ in the harshest of circumstances and the fear they felt but didn't dare speak aloud...that one kiss might be all they get. To remind myself that it  _wasn't_ just one kiss, but a lifetime I get to share with you, my Sansa."

The fiery-haired queen felt the hope and happiness burn bright in her eyes at his words, because she remembered being that girl, a girl who held the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders and her own trauma in her heart. A girl that had long since given up on love but was willing to let herself fall one last time. A girl that hadn't dared to ask the boy in front of her for a promise because she couldn't bear the thought of him not coming back alive. A girl who had instead asked for a kiss because that was easier, somehow, and she had wanted to know what his kiss would feel like.

"A lifetime," she breathed happily, a hopeful grin lighting up her face and a blush pinkening her cheeks when Pod lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the skin on the inside of her wrist...just as he had done that night. "I'll always be waiting for you."

Even as their family was separated into the stormlands and beyond. Arya and Gendry doted upon Eddard as it was likely that he was the only child they would ever have. Though the two still hadn't married - a fact she loved to tease her younger sister about whenever she visited - and Arya still loved to roam the world, they had become a near inseparable family. Gendry and Ned would travel with Arya on occasion, it was much safer to travel in the riverlands and westerlands than it used to be, and she knew that Ned would grow up with the same restless spirit as his mother and the stalwart heart of his father.

Brienne had sent word that she and nine-year-old Catelyn and Joanna would be visiting for the twin's tenth nameday, it had been so long since she had seen her former sworn sword, and even longer since she had seen the girls. The female knight kept her updated with the girls' training, how they were knightly and ladylike in turn, graceful with a sword and on the dance floor, eager to learn needlework and archery alike. She knew how difficult it might be for Brienne to see her daughters seamlessly fit into both worlds their mother had been shunned from, but she had insisted that she would not wish it any other way for the twins. They were growing quickly, Joanna already having held Oathkeeper a few times, her birthright fitting easily in her hands, her loyalty and honest nature making her a perfect fit for her mother's sword. And Catelyn had been pestering her mother when she would get to hold Widow's Wail and was excited to see it during the visit at Winterfell, and with that persistence and determination, the lady knew that Cat would be the true wielder of Jaime Lannister's sword. Both girls were utter reflections of their parents, and she knew that they would do as many, if not more, honorable and courageous deeds as their parents and namesakes.

She had not heard much word from Jon in recent months, only that he was getting on well Beyond the Wall, easily falling back into place as a leader of the Free Folk, the one place he felt he truly belonged. He had mentioned a girl, Val, that he had once met while part of Mance Rayder's camp, and she desperately hoped he would find the happiness and love that he had lost twice now...maybe then his letters would be a bit less brooding.

Word from King's Landing was a bit more frequent, but Bran was just as forthcoming as he always was, his letters full of riddles and half-finished thoughts. It was really Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos whose correspondence she looked to for information on the state of the Six Kingdoms, and from what she could tell, there wasn't much of note _to_ tell. The realm was finally at peace.

Even as the Northerners always tried to convince her to take a King, for they had always had difficulty accepting her choice to marry for love, their old-fashioned ideas goading them into pressuring her to set aside Pod and their children for a Northern king and heir. Every time the issue was raised, she had declined with such force that after a time they had simply stopped asking. Pod had won them over, though, with his straightforward, earnest nature, and even more when he had refused to take the title of "king," choosing instead to remain a knight and a guardian instead of a political leader, leaving her with the title of Queen in the North and all the duties and power she had worked and bled to gain. Plus, all the lords and ladies and commonfolk doted upon the children, so soon there was no more argument towards her personal and romantic choices.

Even as their own children grew up, Robb now only seven, but he was already a better archer than his namesake at his age. He adored his younger siblings, helping them when they stumbled, kissing Jeyne's skinned knee when she fell trying to keep up with him, showing Rickon a few practice parries with his wooden sword, and always asking her when Theon would be old enough to play. And though he didn't know it yet, he was heir to the title her brother had fought and died for, and he was already on his way to being a great king.

Little Jeyne was just as compassionate and kind as the woman she was named for - the woman who still remained one of her only true friends, the woman who had taken her pain and horrible experiences and turned them into what she used to help other women through their own pain, both physical and mental. Jeyne had just turned six a couple months ago, her face lighting up as she danced with her father and brother in the Great Hall, her red hair flying around her in a mess of tangles reminiscent of her Aunt Arry's hair at that age. She was the picture of a little lady, but she also looked up to her brother immensely, the two were nearly inseparable even as they grew. She would look at her only girl, the only one of her children to inherit the Tully hair, and see the lady she would grow to be: practical and passionate and kind and brave.

Rickon was just as wild as his namesake, and she couldn't help but think they had named him appropriately the moment he had arrived a few months early, kicking and screaming the whole way. He was the one who had taken to running out into a rainstorm despite his parents' protestations and sleeping on the floor with the pups he had adopted. She knew that once he met Ned, the two dark-haired, blue-eyed boys would spell trouble for the entire realm, and for their mothers in particular, as they ran wild throughout the castles, their childlike laughter echoing all around.

And then there was Theon, he was still her baby, just over a year old and small, and though he didn't smile often - she could already tell he was going to be a serious, quiet child - when he did, he was the spitting image of his father, and it made whomever he was with wish to smile back. After all, it had only been a few months before when she had first heard him laugh, and of course it had been Rickon, only a year old, who had made his baby brother laugh with a funny face. Of all her boys, Theon was the easiest to raise so far, and he was a fast learner that took to everything in front of him.

Even though all the struggles that might come and all they had lived through, she would wait for him.

"I'll always come back to you," he promised in an instant, Pod sealing his vow with a sweet kiss before pulling back and staring at the setting sun with her, a comfortable silence falling over the couple, the silence of love and promises kept.

For so long, all Sansa Stark knew was that winter was coming.

Winter, with harsh winds and white snows, with monsters and darkness. But now, as she looked around the yard of Winterfell, Pod, her strong and brave and gentle knight by her side, the direwolf crown resting in her still-fiery hair, their children playing and laughing in their home - a home that they would never be forced out of - she finally let herself believe that maybe the monsters won't always win.

That maybe the snows will melt and the sun will rise and she can finally dream of spring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to everyone who has read this series I really appreciate it so much to everyone who has trusted me to take a chance on this rarepair. I've loved writing this series so much and I hope you all have enjoyed reading it!
> 
> Please leave reviews and kudos and comments if you are so inclined, I love them all.
> 
> I'll spare you all my super long A/N and so below is my timeline/ages of some of the key characters cause I did so much math to work this out lol.
> 
> P.S. I know I went kind of Harry Potter-ish w/the names, but I'm terrible at names and I think this series kind of lends itself to Sansa naming her kids after the family she's lost (and found...queue Jenny of Oldstones and the tears)
> 
> P.P.S. The "Val" I mentioned briefly is the like wildling princess from the books, so just wanted to give a shout-out.
> 
> Pod (24, S8)(25, goes North)(26, wedding/Robb)(27, Jeyne)(31, Rickon)(32, Theon)(34, end)
> 
> Sansa (20, S8)(21, Pod arrives)(22, wedding/Robb)(23, Jeyne)(27, Rickon)(28, Theon)(30, end)
> 
> Arya (18, S8)(20, Podsa marries)(23, Eddard)(25, Rickon)(28, end)
> 
> Gendry (23, S8)(25, Podsa marries)(28, Eddard)(33, end)
> 
> Timeline:  
> 3 mo before end of S8 - Battle for Winterfell  
> 4 mo after end of S8 - Pod finds Jeyne; Brienne finds out she’s pregnant  
> 6 mo after end of S8 - Brienne’s twins are born  
> 1 yr 2 mo after end of S8 - Pod is sent North by Bran  
> 1 yr 4 mo after end of S8 - Pod and Jeyne arrive at Winterfell (Brienne’s twins=10 mo)  
> 2 yr after end of S8 - Podsa marriage  
> 2 yr 10 mo after end of S8 - Robb born (Brienne’s twins=2 yr 4 mo)  
> 3 yr 11 mo after end of S8 - Jeyne born (Brienne’s twins=3 yr 5 mo; Robb=1 yr 1 mo)  
> 5 yr 3 mo after end of S8 - Arya finds out she’s 2 mo pregnant (Brienne’s twins=4 yr 9 mo; Robb=2 yr 5 mo; Jeyne=1 yr 4 mo)  
> 5 yr 10 mo after end of S8 - Eddard born (Brienn’s twins=5 yr 4 mo; Robb=3 yr; Jeyne=1 yr 11 mo)  
> 7 yr 9 mo after end of S8 - Rickon born (Brienne’s twins=7 yr 3 mo; Robb=4 yr 11 mo; Jeyne=3 yr 10 mo; Eddard=1 yr 11 mo)  
> 8 yr 9 mo after end of S8 - Theon born (Brienne’s twins=8 yr 3 mo; Robb=5 yr 11 mo; Jeyne=4 yr 10 mo; Eddard=2 yr 11 mo; Rickon=1 yr)  
> 10 yr after end of S8 - end scene (Brienne’s twins=9 yr 6 mo; Robb=7 yr 2 mo; Jeyne=6 yr 1 mo; Eddard=4 yr 2 mo; Rickon=2 yr 3 mo; Theon=1 yr 3 mo)
> 
> So yeah, that was a lot of numbers and times, but I didn't know where else to put it and wanted to everyone to know the timeline I was working with for this fic.
> 
> Once again, I sincerely cannot thank everyone enough who has read this series and/or has commented and/or left kudos. Thank you so so much!


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